Bhavna is a professor at Bangkok School of Management, a writer and editor, ECA coach with Beyond Books for International Schools,&nbsp;co-leader of the Bangkok Women Writers Group, a coach with TaskHuman, Reiki Master,&nbsp;and consultant to the Advisory Board of WhatAbook Publishing House Kolkata, India.

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Bhavna Khemlani

<h4 style="text-align:justify;">BHAVNA KHEMLANI writes about digital detox and the constant need for stimulation. We need to unplug to destress and reconnect.</h4>The soft hum of conversation filled Bean &amp; Brew, a quaint café tucked away from the city’s relentless pace. The scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint aroma of cinnamon pastries, but neither Alex nor Myna noticed. They sat at their usual corner table, bathed in the warm glow of hanging Edison bulbs where both were staring at their screens, their fingers moving with mechanical precision.Myna sighed loudly, barely looking up as she scrolled through her notifications. “I swear, if I get one more Slack message, I might actually throw my phone into that plant pot.” She gestured to a tiny monstera in the corner, its leaves stretching toward the sunlight.Alex smirked but didn’t lift his eyes from his laptop. “I feel you. I woke up to fifty-two emails this morning. On a Sunday. Who does that?”Myna scoffed. “Apparently, your company. And mine. And every overworked soul on this planet. They don’t get what weekend means. With the rise of AI, they expect us to be faster.” She leaned back, rubbing her temples. “It’s like the world just collectively decided that weekends don’t exist anymore.”Alex finally closed his laptop with a soft click, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Honestly? I don’t even remember what an actual break feels like. Even when I take time off, I end up checking emails… you know, just in case.”Myna let out a dry laugh. “Same. My brain never stops buzzing. First thing I do in the morning? Check my phone. Last thing before bed? Check my phone. I can’t even watch a movie without scrolling through Twitter. It’s like my hands are addicted.”Alex sighed, rubbing his thumb over the edge of his coffee cup. “I read somewhere that we’re literally rewiring our brains to crave distractions. Every time we switch tasks, check notifications, scroll mindlessly; it’s all feeding this constant need for stimulation. This is getting terrible.”&nbsp;<figure class="image image_resized" style="width:75%;"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/unplugging_to_reconnect2_678f0b0a5c.webp" alt="unplugging-to-reconnect2.webp"></figure>&nbsp;Myna frowned. “That explains a lot. I can’t focus on one thing for more than a few minutes. One second I’m working on a campaign, the next I’m watching a cat video, then answering a random text, then checking an email I don’t even need to answer.”Alex let out a bitter chuckle, “And it’s messing with our <a href="https://heartfulness.org/magazine/free-yourself-from-stress" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">stress</a> levels. I wake up tired, no matter how many hours I sleep. My mind never actually rests. I tend to get stressed and not having any time for myself.”Myna studied him for a moment, a thought forming in her mind. “You ever hear of digital detoxing?”Alex raised an eyebrow. “You mean, like, deleting Instagram for a week?”“Not just that. Some people take full breaks from screens; no emails, <a href="https://heartfulness.org/magazine/when-social-media-becomes-an-obligation" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">no social media</a>, no mindless scrolling. They replace screen time with real rest. Reading, walking, writing, yoga, mindfulness…”Alex squinted. “Mindfulness? Like, meditation?”“Yeah.” Myna nodded. “Or just being present. Not thinking about a hundred things at once. Just… being. Reconnecting with nature or spending time with Nature.”Alex exhaled slowly, staring at his phone as if seeing it for the first time. “That sounds… hard.”“But also, nice, right?” Myna grinned. “Imagine actually enjoying your coffee without checking your phone. Reading a book or do some writing or even going to the park or go for a swim. Meet some friends to play sports or do Zumba or play boardgames. Just no phone or laptop or even YouTube or Netflix for some time. Perhaps have a good sleep and eat the right diet.”Alex tilted his head, considering it. “I mean… I’d probably go through withdrawals, but sure.”Myna laughed. “Come on. Let’s try it. A mini digital detox; right now. Let’s just pause longer. Like for one hour. We can take a power nap for 15 mins then get something to eat by walking to another café. It will be like having a short walk. We won’t check our phones. Just for one hour. Let’s try that.”Alex raised an eyebrow. “Like, put our phones away? No emails, no notifications?”“Yep. Just us, coffee, good food and actual conversation on travels, books or even mindfulness.”Alex hesitated. His fingers hovered over his phone, like an addict debating whether to quit cold turkey. Finally, with a deep breath, he flipped it face down on the table. “Okay. But if I start twitching, you’re responsible.”Myna smirked and did the same. “Deal.”For a moment, the silence between them felt strange, like an empty space they weren’t used to. But then something shifted.They talked. Really talked.They laughed about old college memories, debated whether pineapple belonged on pizza, shared travel stories that had nothing to do with work. They savored their coffee, ordered pizza, noticing the warmth of the cup in their hands, the rich bitterness of the espresso, the faint sweetness of cinnamon lingering in the air. Trying pizza with pineapple was joy for them. Then they closed their eyes for five minutes trying to be more in present.&nbsp;For the first time in years, they were fully present.And that one hour turned into a habit.Slowly, they started incorporating more mindful moments into their lives with morning walks without their phones, dinners without distractions, entire weekends dedicated to real-life experiences.And as they unplugged from their screens, they found themselves reconnecting with each other, with the world, and most importantly, with themselves.This way they were able to focus on their well-being and have better time management with the work life, too. &nbsp;<figure class="image"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/unplugging_to_reconnect3_401c0f1326.webp" alt="unplugging-to-reconnect3.webp"></figure>&nbsp;

Unplugging to reconnect

<h4 style="text-align:justify;">BHAVNA KHEMLANI is a lecturer at the Bangkok School of Management, a wellness coach, and the co-leader of the Bangkok Women’s Writers Group. Here, Bhavna writes about her inspiring experience of cleaning up the garbage in the city that is her home.</h4>&nbsp;We are here for that glamping trip so we can pick up the pieces other people leave behind. Many people call us garbage collectors. We call ourselves “<a href="https://heartfulness.org/magazine/three-priorities-for-environmental-healing" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Environmental Poets</a>.”In a world where concrete towers overshadow nature’s whispers, we gather in a hidden grove, our words a shield against the encroaching tide of consumerism. Our verses are seeds, planted in the hearts of those who listen, hoping to spark a revolution of conscious choices.As we embark on this new government-assigned project, footsteps crunching over scattered debris, crackling plastics protest our intrusion. The clinks and clanks of metal cans and glass bottles mingle with the rustling of paper and the squelching of <a href="https://heartfulness.org/magazine/being-eco-friendly" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">organic waste</a>, creating a chorus of chaos that echoes through the beach.&nbsp;<figure class="image"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/seven_of_us2_904ad9938d.webp" alt="seven-of-us2.webp" srcset="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/thumbnail_seven_of_us2_904ad9938d.webp 245w,https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/small_seven_of_us2_904ad9938d.webp 500w,https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/medium_seven_of_us2_904ad9938d.webp 750w," sizes="100vw"></figure>Clink clank Clink clank Crunch crunch Crunch crunchCrow cawing, ‘AWW! AWW! AWW! AWW!’We are seven. There sure is a lot of noise. Noise of crackling plastics, breezy wind, hooting for us, and varied fabrics left behind weeping the hard works from sweatshops. We decide to take a break from collecting.The clatter of tent poles being assembled, the rustle of recycled tarps being spread out, and the boisterous banter among our group fills the air blending with the distant hum of motorboats. Volunteering to collect fallen branches for a grove bonfire, armed with trash bags, we split into teams.Later, gathered around the crackling bonfire, our faces light by its warm glow.Amidst the ancient trees, we take our pens dancing like leaves in the wind, crafting lines that flow like rivers of thought. Emotions swirl like storms within them, a tempest of concern for the Earth’s fragile balance. We write of oceans choking on plastic, of forests felled by greed, and of a planet yearning for healing.As we write, our words become a lyrical parody with similes, each comparison a thread connecting human actions to the rhythms of nature. Plastic waste is a suffocating serpent, coiling around the Earth’s throat. Deforestation is a symphony silenced; a heart-rending melody lost to the wind. While we collectors accept a new project to go to the beach and grove.We sing We cook We writeOur green boots Crunch crunch Thump thump<figure class="image"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/seven_of_us4_ca15d2061e.webp" alt="seven-of-us4.webp" srcset="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/thumbnail_seven_of_us4_ca15d2061e.webp 122w,https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/small_seven_of_us4_ca15d2061e.webp 392w,https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/medium_seven_of_us4_ca15d2061e.webp 587w," sizes="100vw"></figure>But amidst the somber notes, a glimmer of hope emerges. Our poetry celebrates the sustaining resources that might yet be nurtured. There is the noise of emerging hope. The noise of our collective thoughts. The noise of people like us who gather to pick up what others leave behind. The noise speaks of solar panels like sunflowers, turning their faces to the light. Wind turbines, like modern-day wind chimes, and sing songs.And then, as the sun begins to dip beneath the horizon, an aroma wafts through the grove. Thai basil and lemongrass mingle in the air; a fragrant reminder of sustenance found in mindful consumption. A feast, crafted from locally sourced ingredients, awaits us.We gather around a wooden table adorned with dishes as vibrant as our verses. Pad Thai, a tangle of colors and flavors, speaks of diversity and unity. Tom Kha Gai, a harmonious blend of coconut and herbs, whispers of balance. Each bite is a pledge, a declaration of allegiance to the Earth’s well-being.We seven environmental poets travel around the country to embrace the difference between clutter, declutter, and waste. Hoarding is a new age disease, and recycling, reprogramming, and restoring is the cure for every age. Its insidious whispers slither like an anaconda in the shadows, hiss its demands for more, the gulp of possessions swallowed whole, followed by another insatiable hiss, craving yet another acquisition to satisfy its voracious appetite.Hiss hiss hiss Gulp gulp gulp Hiss hiss hiss Gulp gulp gulpBellies full and hearts alight, we return to our pens the next day, ready to take on the world with our arsenal of poetry and purpose. The grove echoes with our verses, a chorus of hope and determination. And as we write, we know that our words, like seeds, will take root in the minds of those who listen, inspiring a movement that could change the course of the little ants.The red ants and rats are very much aligned in their teamwork. They’ve had enough rations that will last a long time, so they make a lot of noise.They scurry with a synchronized frenzy, their tiny feet tapping a staccato rhythm against the wood. Each movement is accompanied by the soft rustle of leaves disturbed and the faint clicking of mandibles as they work in unison through a series of subtle chirps and continuous clicks that reverberate through the grove.Click click click Click click clickThe rats, equally industrious in their endeavors, add their own contribution to the cacophony, their gnawing and scratching creating a background melody of determination.Chomp chomp chomp— grind grind grind Chomp chomp chomp— grind grind grindThe urban jungle’s concrete embrace, a tiny oasis of green unfurls its rustling leaves. A garden, a sanctuary, where nature’s heartbeat pulses in vibrant hues. Jasmine tendrils reach for the sky like ballet dancers frozen, mid-pirouette, their fragrant breath mingling with the city’s symphony. Did we actually take a pause to understand how the cities became a suction pipe to consumerism and technology?Behind the jasmine tendrils we set to work with shovels in hand. The rhythmic clatter of metal meeting earth fills the air. Each scoop sends a shower of debris cascading down, accompanied by the dull thud of soil hitting the ground. The metal blades bite into the dirt with resolute determination, their sharp edges slicing through layers of neglect and decay. The shovels lift and deposit their loads into a waiting wheelbarrow. The sound of gloves adds a contrasting note with the soft swish of rubber. Hands clad in protective gloves work tirelessly to sift through the dirt and waste.Clatter clatter clatter Thud thud thud Swish swish swishStorytelling is different these days. We tell stories to sell more. Beneath the emerald canopy, a solitary poet sits, her heart a canvas splashed with emotions as vivid as the flowers around her. With each stroke of her pen, verses bloom like wildflowers after a summer rain, capturing the essence of a world in flux. She is an empath. One of the wonders of the world.In the midst of her poetic reverie, a tantalizing aroma diffuses through the air. Thai basil, like a secret whispered by the wind, tickles her senses again. Her stomach responds with a symphony of anticipation, the flavors of Pad Thai and Tom Kha Gai dance in her mind like characters in a play and she looks at him. The second wonder of the world, the famous chef and farmer.<figure class="image"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/seven_of_us5_7e8c965595.webp" alt="seven-of-us5.webp" srcset="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/thumbnail_seven_of_us5_7e8c965595.webp 125w,https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/small_seven_of_us5_7e8c965595.webp 402w," sizes="100vw"></figure>A medium-sized food cart emerges like a mirage with screeching wheels, a burst of color against the green backdrop. The chef, a culinary artist, wields his wok like a magician’s wand, conjuring a feast that transcends mere sustenance. Flames leap, the wok sizzles, and aromas intermingle, creating a crescendo of flavors that harmonize with the poet’s verses. As the remaining five of us are watching, the empath poet wonders with compassion around the wok.As the first bite touches her lips, the very essence of the garden is captured in that morsel. The Pad Thai’s tangled noodles mirror the intertwining vines, each ingredient a note in a sensory symphony. The Tom Kha Gai, a delicate ballet of coconut and lemongrass, pirouettes on her tongue, evoking the garden’s whispers. She calls out to the teacher of gratitude. The other wonder of the world.Each of us pour forth our own essence and as we near sunset it is time to light the bonfire. So, the wonder of passion decides to take that responsibility with the wonder of care. We believe if we ignite our passion with care we can achieve so much, and it allows us to take each step at a time.As we clear the remaining garbage, we don’t let the soggy waste disturb our taste buds. We are very much in sync with the rustling banana leaves.We start to place banana leaves around the bonfire. There was some hay found so we place that as well. Then we gently place our towels around it. It is enough and quite comfortable for each of us to sit.I realize we are all here as a reminder of nature’s resilience. The wonder of love has natural flavors that paints a world alive with interconnected beauty. There is more noise to make!By now we have so many bags. Each movement elicits a sharp crinkle as the plastic materials shift and settle against one another. The rustle of paper and cardboard adds a softer undertone to the chorus, punctuated by the occasional clatter of glass. Together, these sounds create a different melody. The melody of garbage.&nbsp;<hr><h4 style="text-align:center;">Seven of us—empath, chef, compassion, gratitude, passion, care, and love plant seeds and pick up the pieces other people leave behind.</h4><hr>Crinkles, rustles, thuds Crinkles, rustles, thuds&nbsp; Clatter—clatter—clatterSeven of us—empath, chef, compassion, gratitude, passion, care, and love plant seeds and pick up the pieces other people leave behind.We garbage collectors know how to sing and write.Our glamping trip has not ended, yet.&nbsp;&nbsp;

Bhavna Khemlani

Bhavna is a professor at Bangkok School of Management, a writer and editor, ECA coach with Beyond Books for International Schools, co-leader of the Bangkok Women Writers Group, a coach with TaskHuman, Reiki Master, and consultant to the Advisory Board of WhatAbook Publishing House Kolkata, India.